St Anzai
by Warrior0fstarclan
Summary: Teen!Lock. Sherlock arrives first year at St. Anzai's upon reaching thirteen years old. It is his job to tolerate, survive and find out the truth, through the only means possible, his roommate.
1. Chapter 1

**My shot at a Teen!lock and some new ways of character development! Hope you guys enjoy, I've got this one planned out from start to finish!**

I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters but if I did Sherlock would be driving a Rolls Royce that John would be incredibly jealous of.  
  
If you told someone that this place was a public boarding school they would have laughed in your face, the uniforms, the clothes, the manner of the boys who went here were only a heartbeat away from the most pretentious thirteen to eighteen year olds on the face of the planet.

Very few outsiders could afford such luxuries like this for their children, if your child wasn't an outright genius or had sixty thousand dollars in his back pocket then there was no reason to dream in the first place. This was a place that even with the IQ of forty your child could become the next president of Switzerland. It didn't matter if they failed this school, universities accepted them no question, it was a place that has luck of the draw; an exuberant amount of money from a dumb student in higher class or higher average from a genius which also gave the university funding. All of it boiled down to less ethical means, if the word ethical if was even associated with this place, a gateway into the perceived universal dream, acceptance into the delusional ostentatious upper class.

He however had both money and the intelligence; he was Sherlock Holmes, well now he was at least, a thirteen year old who has had money raining on him since his father left all those years ago. His mother who worked in what she described as a dead end job (being the owner of a famous law firm was dull to her mental stimuli) bringing home invaluable amounts of money each week. Sherlock never found interest in the material goods that didn't provide any use to him in his research, so the money he had got over the years could almost make his own bank card explode. Mummy had told him to use it for his meals instead of having the school supply their lack of nutrition. In one year after his older brother Mycroft had left for the campus he came back for the summer obese with as much energy as sloth who had just been injected with a sedative and Sherlock was determined for that to never happen to him.

Right now he was in a car with both his mother and Mycroft up front, his mother's hand clenched on the steering wheel whilst focusing most of her attention on the mobile she had in the other. Mycroft was yammering on his mobile to, which infuriated Sherlock to no end, neither of them seemed to ever stop communicating with others, people were dull yet they sat there putting them on a pedestal like they have some significance. His mother use to call up friends she hadn't spoken to in a year and then continue to forget about them after a month of contact which is the same habit even Mycroft the twenty year old is adhering to, it was pointless.

He focused on his surroundings trying to block out the sound of Mycroft's voice when he noticed the gates to the school in the distance, he was tempted to leave the car and walk the rest of the way but the car was going too fast for the likely hood of that, lifting up his bags and placing them on a more accessible level to his arms, he waited fists clenched in anticipation.

The car came to a halt, with Sherlock flinging himself out of it with his belongings, grinning at the fresh air that greeted him. It wasn't that he was happy going to the school, in fact it was the complete opposite, but the undoubtable relief that he had to no longer listen to Mycroft or the tapping of mobiles just sent him into a complete breakdown of pure happiness.

St. Anzai academy was printed on all the boards around him, the gate that only looked like a speck two minutes earlier was about fifteen feet tall, with a cream bricked wall on either side of it, he wouldn't be surprised if the place had a draw bridge by the sheer monstrous size of the entrance alone. Pushing the odd thought out of his mind he swung his bag strap over his neck and tapped onto the metal grills curiously.

A short over weight woman emerged from behind the wall, she held her clipboard at her side tapping the pen she carried to an imagined beat, Mycroft who had come up beside him gave her a quick nod as she brought up the keys and inserted them into the intercom on her side of the gate. Sherlock peered curiously at her, looking for any traces of indication that she would be a teacher for the school year. The gates erupted into a whirling sound and he felt Mycroft pull him back by his arm, the woman was in full view now, pudgy fingers, dried out hair with dandruff flakes visible against her dark hair, it was obvious now that she wasn't a teacher, the way she presented herself meant that she had little to no wage to buy decent hair products let alone decent clothes.

The secretary took a step forward and shook Mycroft's hands "Nice to see you again Holmes."  
His brother gave that sickening sly smile of his, "Pleasure." He tilted his head to Sherlock who was biting his tongue in distaste, the smell of the woman was sickening, he wondered why a school like this would even hire her. "This is my little brother, Sherlock."  
"Another Holmes boy?" she cooed, "takes after his big brother, no doubt."  
Sherlock scoffed at her "is that even any of a secretary's concern?"  
"Shut up Sherlock." Mycroft walloped his arm with the back of his hand making the boy grunt in displeasure. Still infuriated by her comment bowed his head and snorted with contempt. The woman was unfazed and let out a low chortle.  
"You'll fit in fine here love." She continued to scribble a few quick notes before looking up from her clipboard, "come along."

Walking side by side he and Mycroft followed the woman and were greeted to an expansive entrance before him, his mother stayed in the car and gave him a nod before following behind the boys with her car at the lowest possible speed. St Anzai's was a huge place; even the gravel beneath their feet looked expensive. The place was strangely deserted, for the exception of a couple of people speaking where the secretary stood before she came out to greet them. Trees were dotted all around the front of the school, there were woods on either side of the building which unable to admit out loud made him fairly excited for the materials he might find and use there.

Reaching the doors the woman opened them and they found themselves in an even less impressive room, his mother had parked and gotten out of the car behind them leaping up the steps, Sherlock followed at the secretary's heals, surrounded by school trophies and photos of past year twelves. The entire place had a golden glow to it, golden wallpaper, pure gold door frame linings, golden carpet; even the clothes the secretary wore were yellow. He guessed that not all the buildings would be like this; why would they put that effort it? It's an all-boys school with pubescent teenagers, but yet again everyone was an idiot, so that didn't matter.

Sherlock pursed his lips as he observed his surroundings; the woman left them and pointed them to an older student who held out his hand for him to shake. The student was well toned; buzz cut brown hair, dark eyes with his uniform hastily put on. His shoes were well worn at the heels; it looked like he played some kind of court sport like basketball or netball from the pressure marks were the heel began. He had a copper necklace on, something a rich prep wouldn't have so he had to be here for his intellect.

"Names Gregson," the older student smiled warmly shaking the Sherlock's hand, "Fifth year, I'm to take you to your room."  
"Sherlock Holmes."  
"Ready?"  
"Yes." He remembered the fact his family was behind him and dreaded confrontation.

"Well uh…" awkwardly Sherlock turned around, glancing back to Gregson who raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Bye then?"  
Setting off to follow Gregson he felt both his mother and brother pull him into a cliché group hug, "Get off!" he croaked, pulling and struggling, when they finally let him go he brushed off his clothes frustrated, the sooner he got away from them now the better, even if it was to a _school._

Ignoring them now he followed his new tour guide.

**Hey guys :3 Got this new story planned out that I dreamed up (not all of it, I fill in the blanks) and hopefully you guys enjoy it! Looking really forward to writing this one~ Feedback is appreciated! **

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	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, new update :D I've got a lot of chapters to post but I haven't had my computer for so long because I was staying at my mates house (who just published a book so went on a holiday to celebrate) thanks for the follows, favorites and reviews, much appreciated and love you all. thanks for your patience!**

**I do not own Sherlock but if I did Mycroft would get a background story as a passionate alpaca rancher. **

"The ground rules here are fairly simple, follow the law and abide by the curfew."

It was now six and Sherlock was following behind the fifth year who had shown him the basic quarters of the school. He had gained his timetable and uniform from the head office who had assigned him to advanced science via request. They were standing outside his dorm room the student filing him in on all he needed to know, flashing the occasional rule book in his face. Sherlock hadn't said a word though; he just stood there waiting for him to shut up.

"Since it's the first weekend back you have no need to study so use it as a chance to get to know your classmates," he said "when classes start Saturdays still require a study hall of minimum two hours and Sunday is market day where you will be given pocket money and a chance to go into town."  
"Are we done?"

Gregson sighed, the jagged edge of his mouth were still curled into a smile "It's your fault you didn't read the instruction booklet."

"Does anyone?" he twitched his nose in distaste.

The taller boy let out a low chuckle, handing Sherlock the key and what mysteriously look like a packet of cigarettes. "Welcome gift, everyone gets one, your room mate smokes so just hand them to him if you don't want them. Might be an icebreaker." Sherlock grunted pleased with their choice of brand, inserting the keys into the door Gregson left him there alone struggling with his stuff as he opened the door to his new room.

Swinging the door open there was nothing to marvel at, the walls were plain white thumbtack and blue tack markings tracing them from previous posters hung up on them. There were two beds, one already on the right side of the room had piles of bags packed onto and underneath it, making Sherlock curious as to why they packed do heavy. He closed the door behind him relieved that no one was here yet and walked across the room to toss his stuff to rid the heavy strain on his neck and shoulder.

Pulling out the cigarettes the tour guide gave him he smiled to himself; maybe this school wouldn't be too bad. The curly haired boy grabbed one out of the pack and placed it loosely between his teeth testing the position he could hold it in his mouth. He had smoked before, but only when he was bored and found some of his nursemaids spares. Getting up and opening the window, he pulled out the lighter that was stashed in his duffle bag and lit it up.

Lifting his weight up onto the desk where he crawled across, he experimented with the window sill before him testing the most comfortable spots it presented. After several misplaced twist and turns later he let his legs dangle out of the window ignoring the long drop below. His cigarette felt achingly good as he observed the few people below him who didn't even shoot a glance upwards, some of the boys were kicking a soccer ball around, others met up with old friends who chatted incoherently to Sherlock's ears, everything seemed fairly ordinary so far as he looked around, he felt oddly disappointed by it actually.

"I'll give you a quid if you jump,"  
Frightened by the unexpected voice Sherlock almost slipped off the window sill only to catch himself on the frame , cursing at his inelegant motor skills he pulled himself back towards the desk and spun a full one hundred and eighty degree turn to find himself staring at another boy who accepted no means of personal space.  
He was well groomed, in a suit that Sherlock suspected would have cost at least half a gr and, and had an elegantly lined face with distinctive eyes one of which was cocked at him in amusement.

"A quid wouldn't get me a bus fare."  
The boy smirked at Sherlock "What if –" to demonstrate the student filtered a coin out of his pocket and held it in front of Sherlock's face "I dropped it from a really high angle and gave you a complimentary concussion to go with the broken legs."  
The coin fell out of his hand and onto the floor where it bounced twice before rolling under the desk.

Sherlock pretended to ponder at the offer for a moment "two quid, you might miss."

The strange kid let out a laugh "I never miss," he held out his hand towards Sherlock. "Names Jim, Jim Moriarty."  
Taking Jim's hand in his own he shook it with as minimal force as possible, his brother told him to be timid with these kinds of actions. "Sherlock Holmes."  
Letting go of Jims hand he jumped off the desk and shook himself off, Jim just took a step back and casually watched him as he dusted himself off "Be careful of the goods!"  
Sherlock rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile at Jim's frantic cleaning of his clothes. "You're Irish right?"  
"What gave it away?" Jim questioned, now satisfied with cleaning himself the boy looked into Sherlock's eyes locked their gazes with a curious expression.

"Your last name."  
A small silence followed. "What else?" Jim seemed to perk up now, the intensity of their gazes increasing.  
"Well…your accents too strong, obviously not picked up here and not picked up by your parents because it would be much weaker than that since you obviously weren't homeschooled."

Jim looked a little disappointed at his observation, but didn't look as if he resented asking Sherlock like everyone else would have at his simple deductions. "I was hoping you would be a little more detailed but you are correct, I come from Dublin." Breaking the gaze with Sherlock he started pulling off his tie and sat on the bed opposite of Sherlock's, Sherlock still found himself wondering why Jim wanted more details and tried to put it to the back of his mind, there was something different about the boy, he was rich, confident but he looked at Sherlock like an equal so far.

Even through the smallest interactions Sherlock found that he could never give up the nagging sensation of curiosity that wound him up inside.

"You don't smoke properly."  
"What?"  
Jim topless now sighed comically, "_Tu non fumigant proprie_."  
"I heard what you said."  
"Good. I'm getting rusty on Latin."  
Snorting Sherlock glared at him, clenching his fists in frustration, Jim was in his underwear now and was shuffling through his suitcase engrossed in his selection; "For one thing," he said huffing "you do not inhale."  
Sherlock went over to his bed now and sat down waiting for Jim to continue, he was a little pissed that the boy had the audacity to judge his smoking habits but let it happen anyway, he had to tolerate his roommate for a while now and provoking him wouldn't be the best idea. His roommate was fascinating; he had an air to him that was foreign to any of Sherlock's experience.

"You flick off the ashes to early without giving them their own chance to fall in which most smokers know is pointless."  
"Just how long were you behind me for?"  
"It doesn't take an expert to judge these characteristics, I only needed to see you drag once and it was painful to watch." To emphasize Jim pretended to drag a cigarette and pulled a constipated face. "There are people out there dying from nicotine related diseases and here you sit hogging them all from those poor souls."  
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at the boys faces "Do you smoke?"  
"Nope."  
"Why not?"  
"Boring habit, I see no value in it and find it would become tedious." Lying on his bed he carelessly kicked his cases to the floor causing a thunderous thump on the carpet making Sherlock jump a little, "I find biting my nails suits me well enough."  
Not knowing what to say Sherlock sat there for what felt like hours, for the first time in his life he was unable to retort or make some witty comment to the _insult? _And it felt great.


End file.
